


You don't know how lucky you are

by White_Ithiliel



Series: (Grand)master and (Grand)padawan [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Jedi Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Ithiliel/pseuds/White_Ithiliel
Summary: “You don’t know how lucky you are. You are a girl and yet you learn how to fight and you get to command soldiers. You give orders and people follow them. Your mentors are living legends. You have incredible powers and you can do amazing things, like moving objects with your mind. Me, my parents force me to learn how to play the Yhtsil'ka flute and the Joru'thal piano. I’ll never be able to wield a lightsaber, and I’ll never be in a real battle. You don’t know how kriffing lucky you are.”*The stories is this series are unrelated*





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was always disappointed by the lack of interaction between Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. Let's fix this, shall we ? More fanfictions, ficlets, prompts and/or drabbles to follow.

Ahsoka doesn’t like diplomatic missions. Negotiations have always been Master Kenobi’s forte anyway, never hers (or Skyguy’s, for that matter). Why her estimated Grandmaster decided to drag her along while Anakin is on a solo mission, that she cannot fathom. It’s not like she’s even useful! She’s just sitting silently beside him, trying to pay attention as the great Negotiator convinces yet another neutral system to join the Republic. Ugh.

She squirms, her lekku twitching almost spasmodically. They are even starting to get a grey tinge, and her Force Signature reeks of impatience and boredom.

Kriff. 

Master Kenobi may seem totally oblivious for now, but she’s going to get the lecture of her life, that she’s certain of. Something on the lines of “patience is necessary for Jedi,” “you have to restrain your frustration,” “words are often more powerful than weapons, that’s why you must learn diplomacy” and “you should meditate more, Ahsoka.” Kark, kark and _karking kark_.

It’s not that she doesn’t like Master Kenobi. On the contrary, he’s one of the people she respects most in the whole Order. She might even be a little… attached to him, the way she’s attached to Skyguy, Rex and Master Plo. But that’s not the point.

… Oh, Force, she’d give anything to spar with Anakin, right here and now! Even math problems would do fine, actually. Or a chat with Jar Jar Binks. Yes, she’s serious. She’s just going to lose her mind if she stays in this room for another minute.

That’s when one of the important-looking-guys (probably royalty; she isn’t sure; not that she cares) finally notices her misery and smiles. 

“Master Kenobi,” interrupts important-looking-guy. “It seems that your Padawan could use some fresh air. She isn’t looking very well. Perhaps she could join my children and their friends in the gardens?” 

“Grandpadawan, actually,” corrects Master Kenobi. But he still nods in approval.

“Go, Ahsoka. You’re free until dinner, but I want you to meditate for a least half an hour before we eat. We might even do some lightsaber practice tonight if there is time.”

Thank the Force!! Meditation is a small price to pay for liberty, and the perspective of sparring with Master Kenobi is really appealing. She grins broadly and practically runs to the door, earning fond and amused glances from the people gathered around the oval table. Master Kenobi just imperceptibly shakes his head, the ghost of smile on his lips. 

Once outside the palace, Ahsoka can’t help but jump and shout in victory, exhilarated. She wants to run, she wants to feel the wind on her face, she wants the oxygen to burn her lungs and clear her head, she wants to collapse on the grass and stay sprawled there, doing nothing but stare at the infinite blue sky, she wants to—

Oh, Force. People. Children. Teenagers. Here, in the gardens. Staring at her. Important-looking-guy’s kids and their friend, no doubt. She can see two natives (she doesn’t remember the name of their species, but they look like dark-skinned humans with golden eyes and short, thin grey horns protruding from their skull), a brash looking Twi'Lek boy with yellow skin, a dreamy-eyed Human girl and a black-furred Cathar boy. 

Wonderful.

She can kiss her afternoon of freedom goodbye. If they are around her own age, no doubt they’re all fascinated by Jedi. They’re going to question her to no end! They have already spotted her, given their looks, and are coming her way. Kriff!

… Oh well, if she can’t avoid them at least she can be polite and behave properly.

The thought surprises even Ahsoka. Master Kenobi’s personality must be rubbing off on her. 

Deciding that it’s better to follow her Grandmaster’s example rather than Anakin’s in that particular situation, she avances toward the small group and waves amicably, smiling. She opens her mouth, ready to introduce herself, when the Twi'Lek cuts her off. 

“You’re with the Jedi, right? What are you? His servant?”

Rude. And denoting an incredible lack of intelligence. Anybody can see the lightsaber hanging from her belt. 

“No, I am Master Kenobi’s Grandpadawan. That means I’m apprenticed to his former apprentice, Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. I’m Ahsoka Tano, by the way, at your service.”

And she bows formally, shoving her anger deep beneath thick shields, promising herself to release it in a minute. Master Kenobi would be very proud of her answer, but Skyguy would tease her to no end. That’s not how she acts normally. That’s not what she is. She’s not a Negotiator. 

When she straightens up and meet the other children’s gazes, she’s greeted by awed, incredible or downright hateful expressions.

“Master Kenobi? The Negotiator?” chirps the youngest kid, one of the two natives and obviously important-looking-guy’s daughter. “Father didn’t let us see the Jedi, nor did he tell us his name. The Negotiator is really here? You’re not lying?”

“Jedi don’t lie,” snaps Ahsoka, already exasperated by the little girl’s pure adoration. 

The young Togruta knows her Grandmaster is attractive, just as Anakin, but it’s still infuriating to see people swooning whenever he’s mentioned. Because he’s so much more than “attractive”! He is a brilliant strategist, a cunning warrior, a patient teacher, a kind but strong leader and General… To designate him by his looks only is insulting. 

That's when the Cathar decides to join the conversation.

“Seriously?! Your Master is Anakin Skywalker, the Hero with No Fear? You live with him?”

Oh, Force. A fanboy. 

“Yes, I do, I…”

And then the Human girl all but shrieks.

“But that must be amaziiiiing!!!! How is he? Is he as funny as he appears to be in interviews?? Are the Negotiator and him always bickering?? People say so on the Holonet. They also say the Republic is lucky to have Generals like them. Do they tell you what happens on the battlefield?”

“I _fight with them_ on the battlefield! I’m a Commander, not some…”

“ _Liar_!”

Oh. That was the Twi'Lek.

“You can’t be a Commander. You’re just a girl, and a small one with that. I’m older than you and I bet I can do everything you do ten times better. You are just trying to show off!”

Ahsoka just can’t take any of this anymore. She’s going to show off alright! She draws her lightsaber - please, _please_ , Force, don’t let Master Kenobi see her doing that - and goes through one of the fastest katas she knows. She isn’t a Togruta teenage girl, she is a whirlwind of green fire, a lonely dancer playing with a single flame, fearless, safe because the flame is part of her as she is part of it. She somersaults, she whirls, she rolls, she jumps, beheading countless invisible adversaries. 

Once she is finished, she turns off her weapon and glares at the idiotic boy. Ah! He can’t even speak, that bantha-brained male!

All the other kids are staring, agape. Well, at least they’re silent now.  
“Don’t even bother to ask,” she warns, seeing their envious expressions. “I won’t let you touch my lightsaber. It’s not a toy. It’s a Jedi’s _life_.”

And she turns around, determined never to speak with those children again. She should go to some recluse area and meditate, as Master Kenobi instructed. And then she should lie down and take a nap.

But as she walk away, the other native child, probably the little girl’s brother, speaks for the first time.

“You don’t know how lucky you are. You are a girl and yet you learn how to fight and you get to command soldiers. You give orders and people follow them. Your mentors are living legends. You have incredible powers and you can do amazing things, like moving objects with your mind. Me, my parents force me to learn how to play the Yhtsil'ka flute and the Joru'thal piano. I’ll never be able to wield a lightsaber, and I’ll never be in a real battle. You don’t know how kriffing lucky you are.”

And all Ahsoka can do is stare, astonished, befuddled even. Lucky? Lucky to see clones - brothers - die under her command? Lucky to know nothing but war, to be nothing but a living weapon? Lucky to have no parents, no identity? Lucky to see her mentors coming back from the battlefield exhausted or even wounded?

Memories threaten to swallow her alive, and she finds herself daydreaming, recalling painful past events she’d rather forget.

And then she is in the gardens again, surrounded by children who envy a life they don’t understand, who worship heroes they have never met, who desire powers beyond their comprehension. 

“You know nothing” she spits.

And she walk away, heart heavy and sorrowful.

She meditates for more than two hours, and she’s still meditating when Master Kenobi’s finds her.

“Ahsoka? Is everything alright?” he inquires softly, sensing her distress seeping though hastily erected shields.

As she refuses to answer, he kneels down beside her and puts an hand in her shoulder, sighing.

“What is it, young one?”

And the affectionate appellation melts away her resistance. 

“They called me lucky. They are free, unburdened, they can do silly things like playing the Yhtsil'ka flute, and yet they called me lucky.” 

And she tells him what transpired between the other teenagers and her. He listens without a word. When she is finished, he merely places his other hand one her other shoulder and gathers the Force around them, like a warm blanket made of peace and serenity. 

“That’s why I don’t like the word lucky,” he says as she basks in the Light and warmth that surround the two of them. “Our life isn’t better than theirs, nor is it worse. We aren’t luckier. We were just given greater gifts and greater responsibilities. Luck as nothing to do with it.”

Oh. Right. She is supposed to know this.

Somehow, it all makes more sense when Master Kenobi explains. She feels ashamed for her childish reaction now.

Sensing her emotions once again, her Grandmaster smiles.

“Every Jedi one day finds himself or herself questioning our way of life. It’s normal, Ahsoka, there is no need feel guilty.”

And as she smiles tentatively, he gently strokes one of her lekku and winks mischievously.

“And now, how about I teach you how to play the Yhtsil'ka flute?”

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr: https://ithiliel-the-french-tolkiendil.tumblr.com/
> 
> This story is also published on fanfiction.net, under the pen name White Ithiliel: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/7355031/


End file.
